


Darts and Pearls

by danceswithhamsters01



Series: The Sound of Magic [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Mention of but not depiction of sex for hire, Wardens do some work for Sergeant Kylon, some violence, that work sends them to the Pearl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danceswithhamsters01/pseuds/danceswithhamsters01
Summary: The Wardens do a few errands for Sergeant Kylon while they're in Denerim. One of those errands sends them to the local "house of ill repute" known as "The Pearl" to clear out some overly rowdy mercenaries.





	Darts and Pearls

The Wardens had to fight off the small tingle of fear when the guard first flagged them down and recognized them. He identified himself as Kylon, sergeant of the Denerim city guard. He mentioned something about handbills with their likenesses being passed around. A brief smirk and his adding that the drawing did the lady mage no justice had lit a tiny spark of vexation in Zevran. A bit of a banter back and forth soon eased the Wardens' sense of apprehension.

 

"If we're wanted criminals, why are you not doing anything to apprehend us?" Alistair asked.

 

“If I asked my men to apprehend you, they'd all run and cry big, sobby tears in their courtesan's bosoms and leave me all alone to be skewered,” Kylon replied.

 

"Listen, I could use a bit of help. You lot seem to be made of sterner stuff than my guards. There's a... situation going on at an establishment known as 'The Pearl.' Its proprietor, a woman called Sanga, needs someone to go in and clear out a rowdy group of mercenaries calling themselves the White Falcons. Apparently, they're scaring off other customers and being... unkind to the staff. They are in need of a bit of a beat down," he continued.

 

Shale chuckled and said something about smashing 'soft, squishy creatures,' making Kylon glare.

 

"I said beat down, not kill. Let me make that really clear. Not on fire, or exploded, or Maker knows whatever type of grisly death you can dream up. ...Sorry, used to giving orders to my boys. Just leave them breathing, and I'll be happy," the sergeant said.

 

After a brief hushed back and forth between the Wardens, they agreed to help. Anything that helped to change public opinion of them from what Loghain had painted their order as being could only help. If the lies were to be believed, Alistair was a bloodthirsty madman in the thrall of a maleficar who was using him as a puppet for her own ends. Oh, and they supposedly had a hand in killing King Cailan. And kicked mabari puppies, while stealing candy from children, and then set orphanages on fire for fun.

 

After a few blocks and several wrong turns, the group found themselves inside the lushly decorated interior of The Pearl. The establishment's exterior was deceitfully drab, making them miss it on the first walk by.

 

"Ahhh, I grew up in a place such as this. They say you can never go home again, but for ten silvers an hour you can get pretty close," Zevran smirked.

 

The elf had to bite back hearty laughter as the light of comprehension flickered on in Sevarra's eyes.

 

"Oh... oh! It's a... where people sell... for money?" she blushed.

 

"It's a what?" Alistair asked.

 

"Brothel," Zevran cheerfully answered.

 

"Does it have anything to do with broth?" the taller Warden asked.

 

Cheeks still flushed red as ripe strawberries, she replied. "It's a... business where favors of a... er, sexual nature... are given in exchange for coin."

 

"Oh," the man replied quietly, his cheeks taking a flaming red hue.

 

"W-well, we need to get on with it. Kylon said they were being 'unkind' to the workers. I'd hate to think what that could involve, given the, er, nature of the work here," she stammered.

 

They passed by the dwarven bouncer standing guard at the entryway and came to a large open area, hosting the bar, a sea of tables, and booths lining two of the walls. A tall, dignified woman in a rich red dress and her chocolate hair up in a high bun greeted them.

 

"Welcome to The Pearl! I'm Sanga, the proprietor. Have a seat, get comfortable, and tell me what you need. Every one of my people here is a skilled craftsman, and don't let anyone tell you different. You'll have to go one at a time, I'm afraid. Our rooms aren't quite big enough to share between so many. But we can discuss that in a moment. So what would you like me to show you? The men or the women? Or some of both, if you prefer," she smiled.

 

"Er, actually, Sergeant Kylon sent us. Something about a little problem with rowdy visitors getting out of hand?" the mage stammered.

 

"Ah. About bloody time he sent someone," Sanga sighed. "Those White Falcon bastards have scared off all but the most determined of my customers tonight, and banged up a few of my girls and boys beyond what would happen during normal 'play.' The sooner they're out of here, the happier we'll all be."

 

Sanga pointed to the room the White Falcons were currently occupying. Raucous laughter and the sound of heavy things smacking against tables and walls emanated from it. "Good luck with that lot, you'll need it."

 

As soon as the trio and their golem friend entered the room, the laughter came to a stop as all eyes fell upon them.

 

"What's this? Sanga sending us a little something special?" the ringleader, a tall and brawny human fellow with dozens of scars and tattoos adorning his face and arms, said as he leered at the mage.

 

At that moment, it took more effort than usual for Zevran to keep his face in a neutral expression. If it came to blows, he knew who he would target first.

 

"You lot apparently don't know how to play nicely. You are requested to take yourselves elsewhere, immediately," the smaller Warden held her head up defiantly.

 

The polite request was met with boisterous laughter. "Or what, little girl? You'll run and tattle on us to mummy?"

 

Sevarra looked first to Alistair and then Zevran. "You guys saw this, yes? I tried being polite."

 

She summoned a soft pink wisp of light and directed it to hover over her left shoulder and then cleared her throat. She made eye contact with the ringleader.

 

"The mage, that would be me, is asking you louts --rather nicely, I may add-- to take your terrible manners and the rest of yourselves out of this establishment. Immediately. Before my friends and I lose our patience," she said.

 

The leader's smirk melted into a snarl. "No witch is going to tell me and my men what we can and can't do."

 

"So, roughing up prostitutes and getting into brawls in a brothel is the way to curry favor with Regent Loghain, is it? I thought the upper crust wanted to hire warriors who are more... disciplined," she countered.

 

The mercenaries' leader went pale as he grasped the implications. "Y-you may have a point there, miss. Men, we've had our fun for now. Let's clear out."

 

The mercenaries grumbled and complained, but the majority of them began collecting their things and making for the door. All except for one very stupid man. The idiot in question had the gall to try to stroke Sevarra's cheek as he drew near. He found the offending appendage forcefully pinned to the table by one of Zevran's daggers.

 

"If she desired such a thing of you, she would have made it known, no?" the assassin said icily before pulling his blade free of the merc's hand.

 

The merc whimpered and cradled his injured hand as he scurried for the exit.

 

Sanga came into the room and smirked. "Thank the Maker. Let Kylon know we appreciate the help."

 

"You said some of your workers had been hurt? Maybe I could have a look at them?" Sevarra inquired. "I'm a healer type, not a 'blow things up' type of mage."

 

Sanga arched her brows and nodded, leading the Warden away to one of the private rooms. Alistair and Zevran shrugged at one another, uncertain what to do. Moments later, a waitress flitted over with a tray and handed each of them a mug of ale.

 

"On the house, loves," the dwarven woman smiled. "For helpin' us out. Go ahead and have a seat for a while. Your friend's a bit busy mending one of our girls up."

 

The clank and clang of blade meeting blade drew the men's attention to a corner of the main room. There, a Rivaini looking woman was fighting a rather irate off-duty soldier and winning with little effort. After several minutes, and the soldier's belt being cut, making his pants fall to his ankles, the fight came to a close.

 

"Be off with you now, and be glad I only took from you your gold! Heh. Fools..." the woman chuckled as her opponent and his friend fled the Pearl's walls.

 

"Who is that?" Alistair murmured after taking a sip of his ale.

 

"Why not go say hello, hm? Not like we have to be somewhere for a while, no? You know how our dear mage is when she comes across injured folk," the elf smirked.

 

The Warden eyed him uncertainly. Taking a breath and then his tankard, he strolled over to the woman. Zevran grinned and followed. The Chantry boy was getting brave, was he? This he had to see for himself.

 

The Templar shyly greeted her and complimented her blade work, which drew an amused laugh. The Rivaini's eyes lit up when they fell upon Zevran.

 

"Zevran, is that you? Come to apologize for leaving me bereft of my lord husband, have you?" she grinned.

 

The assassin laughed and made introductions. Isabela, the lady duelist, eyed Alistair as if he were some sort of tasty confection once the fact that he was a Grey Warden was made known. Surprisingly, Alistair only tripped over his tongue once or twice. He even grinned and took Isabela up on her offer of a game of Wicked Grace. Not that he played with any great skill, but points had to be given for the man not stammering and running away.

 

Several tankards and games of Wicked Grace later, Sevarra emerged from the back room looking a tad heartsick and worn out. Zevran held a finger in front his smiling lips as she drifted to his side and pointed to Isabela and Alistair intently focused on their game. The mage blinked in surprise and followed him as he led her away to the bar.

 

"Huh. I never figured Al for someone who'd play card games," she mused. She gratefully took a gulp of ale the dwarven waitress brought her.

 

"Speaking of games," he drawled, "I have a proposition, if you will."

 

She arched a brow while taking a long pull of her drink. "Oh? Do go on."

 

"I'm fairly certain you've played darts, yes?"

 

"It's been ages, and it was mostly for training before moving on to throwing knives, but yes," she replied.

 

"Humor me with a game. Winner gets a favor from the loser?" he asked.

 

A blush accompanied her smirk. "This should be interesting. Why not?"

 

Collecting two sets of darts from the barkeep after passing over a few coppers, they made their way to a dartboard and began. Her aim was quite good, but he was better. He won two out of three games, therefore winning the wager. She chuckled and drained the last of her mug.

 

"Very well, then. You won, fair and square. What sort of favor did you have in mind?"

 

"Mmm, let us collect our dear Alistair and take him back to Eamon's estate, first. I fear Isabela may devour him if we leave him with her much longer," he answered.

 

"Who?"

 

"An old friend. The lady he's playing cards with."

 

They went over to collect their wayward Templar, who was being watched over by Shale as he lost another round.

 

"The second Warden does not seem to care that it is utter rubbish at this game," the golem snarked.

 

"Yes, well, the second Warden will need to wrap up this game. We need to chat with Kylon and then head back to the estate," Sevarra smirked.

 

"Second Warden?" Isabela grinned, eyeing the mage with the same ravenous gaze she'd given Alistair. "Zevran, you've started a collection and have been holding out on me! How rude!"

 

He wrapped an arm around the mage's waist. "Perhaps if you ask one of them very nicely. Alas, we have places to be, things to take care of, people to thump. You know how it goes, my dear. Perhaps another time."

 

Tipsy Alistair wrangled, they started back toward the Market district when they were confronted by a very upset leader of the White Falcons. Moments later, Sergeant Kylon and a few of his men joined the Wardens. Within seconds, Alistair shook off his tipsiness and skillfully waded into battle. Minutes later, the White Falcons who hadn't surrendered were put down.

 

"And people actually voluntarily attack you? Are they just stupid?" Kylon said after letting a low whistle. "I'm going to head back to the Market District. It's not very safe for me in these back alleys. Look me up if you're in the mood for more work. You're a good lot, you Wardens."

 

The party found their way back to Eamon's estate without any further interruptions. Declaring the need for a meal after the fight, Alistair made his way to the kitchen. Once the man was out of earshot, Zevran grinned.

 

"Now, about that favor," he smirked. "Let us retire to somewhere private."

 

Wending their way to the guest wing, they sauntered into the suite they shared. Closing the door firmly, she smiled at him.

 

"So, what did you have in mind?"

 

He eyed her up and down, not bothering to hide the gleam in his eye. "Something I've wanted to try for some time. Come, my dear."

 

After having her spark a bit of kindling alight for the hearth, he made her sit a comfortable distance from the fire and drifted into place behind her. The first few strokes of the comb through her ebon mane caught her by surprise, which gave way to giggling.

 

"You won, and the favor you picked was to do my--" the question died as she gave a relaxed sigh, gifted hands massaging her scalp.

 

"There are women and men who would kill for hair like this. Long, silky, strong, and yet, you do nothing special with it. It is criminal," he chided, combing smaller sections from the rest of her mane before plaiting them.

 

"That's me. Witch, king killer, kicker of puppies, and incorrigible flouter of good fashion," she beamed.

 

"Tsk. Such a terrible creature. I shall try my best to make you see the light," he snickered while weaving a second set of braids several inches below the first.


End file.
